


Q. H.

by Elpin



Category: James Bond (Movies), Sherlock (TV), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Brother Feels, Established Relationship, Family Drama, First Time, Holmes Brothers, M/M, Q is a Holmes, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-19
Updated: 2014-01-19
Packaged: 2018-01-09 07:37:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1143294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elpin/pseuds/Elpin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft seeks Sherlock's expertise when their younger brother goes missing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Q. H.

Sherlock jogged up the stairs, John following at a more leisurely pace. They were still in high spirits from their latest case. Sherlock's good mood, however, was interrupted by the presence of Mycroft in his living room. 

'What are you going here?' Sherlock asked as he removed his coat and scarf. 

'You didn't answer my texts,' Mycroft said by way of explanation as John entered the room, delivering a more traditional greeting, which Mycroft ignored. 

'I was busy,' Sherlock said. He checked his phone and found five unopened text messages, all reading some variation of “come now”. 

'I've got a case for you.' 

'I've got a case.' 

'You just solved that one. Besides, this one is important.' Something in Mycroft's stance and tone made Sherlock stop and look his brother other. John stood off to the side, noting the change in mood in Sherlock, but deciding to not speak. 

'What's happened?' Sherlock asked. 

'It's Q,' Mycroft answered. 'He's missing.' 

'Missing?' 

'Who's Q?' John asked, looking from one brother to the other. 

'Presumed kidnapped?' Sherlock asked. 

'Most likely.' 

'Why?' 

'Difficult to say,' Mycroft sighed. 'He does have access to more sensitive information than any other person in MI6 besides M and myself. Though he lacks all ambition to use it.' The last was said with slight annoyance and disappointment. 

'But whoever managed to take him would know that all useful information, including pass-codes, would be changed the moment he was gone.' 

'Exactly.' 

'So, we have to assume a different motive.' 

'That's why I came to you.' 

'I'm sorry,' John interrupted again. 'But who is Q?' 

'Our brother,' Sherlock answered, not taking his eyes off Mycroft. 

'Oh God, there's three of you?' The two present Holmes turned to him with a look. He put up his hand in apology. 'Sorry. So, your... younger, brother? His name is Q?' 

'You think our parents would name their children Sherlock, Mycroft and Q?' 

'Well...' 

'It's code for Quintilian,' Mycroft supplied. 'If we could move this along.' 

'He's an MI6 agent?' John asked. 

'He is the chief Quartermaster for the double O program,' Sherlock said, and by Mycroft's look of annoyance that was classified information. 'Which means any one of the people he helped stop could be behind this. Where did they take him?' 

'His flat.' 

Sherlock quirked an eyebrow at that. Mycroft led the way downstairs to a car. Since no one told him not to come, John tagged along. He and Sherlock sat opposite Mycroft in the car, and the silence quickly became oppressive. 

'He's younger then?' John asked to pass the time. 

'Hm? Yes,' Sherlock answered, staring out the window. 

'How old is he?' 

'Twenty-four,' Mycroft answered. 

'Twenty-four? He's MI6-' John shook his head and decided to just let that fact slide. The Holmes were obviously a separate species. They stopped outside a very non-descriptive old house, in a neighbourhood that was only slightly below Baker Street in price and style. The three of them wasted no time and walked up all four flights of stairs to the top – no lifts – and found an agent waiting outside a door. He nodded to Mycroft as they passed. 

The space inside was surprising. It wasn't quite Sherlock, yet it wasn't what John imagined Mycroft's home to be like either. It was almost humble. He was fairly certain the furniture was all from IKEA, and there was very little in terms of personal knick-knacks like Sherlock had from all his favourite cases. The living room had an old television, a comfortable sofa and coffee-table, and a single standing lamp in the corner. The kitchen was at the other end of the long room, and it looked a lot like John's first kitchen when he had moved out on his own. There was a barstool by the island-counter, but no kitchen table. To the right of the entrance door stood a long bookshelf, going all the way down to the door that presumably let to the bedroom and bathroom. John took a look at the books while Sherlock circled the room, doing his bit. Mycroft remained in the doorframe. 

The books were very traditional, all the classics of a public school education. Nothing to suggest Quintilian was anything different than his brothers. Yet the feel of the place was much more youthful, suggesting to John this Holmes might have had a different childhood, full of slightly more childish things. 

'I can't really see a signs of a struggle,' John commented. The only thing of note was the fact that the carpet and table were a bit out of alinement and the remote control was on the floor. But that could just be a twenty-four year-old's bad habit. 

'This is a two bed-room flat?' Sherlock asked suddenly. Mycroft nodded, dug in his pocket, and threw Sherlock a set of keys. Sherlock caught them and disappeared through the door. John frowned and followed. The narrow hallway had three doors, one to each side and one at the end. One of the doors was open, showing a very empty bedroom. 

The other door Sherlock unlocked and stepped inside, and John finally understood what made this Holmes unique. 

The room was filled to the absolute brim with computers and gadgetry. John could barely manage his smartphone, so the sight of this shrine-like room made him feel a bit old. A desk ran round all three walls, loaded to the brim with computers and screens. Straight ahead was obviously the main alter, with three screens sharing the same computer. John admired the way the bubbles of the screen-saver bounced from one to the next, though he had no idea why one person would need three screens. Sherlock didn't seem surprised and sat down in front of the hub. He touched a key and a password prompt appeared. 

'Do you know his password?' Sherlock asked. 

'No, it's his private machine,' Mycroft said from the doorway. John hadn't heard him follow them. 'You know how he gets.' 

Sherlock rose abruptly and pushed past the other two to look into the bedroom. 

'Can he not crack it?' John asked Mycroft, who just smiled and turned away. Once Sherlock had looked over the entire flat, they all gathered in the living room. 

'Tell me what happened the last time you saw him,' Sherlock said. 

'I haven't seen him in months,' Mycroft said. 'According to M's aide, he finished work at nine on Thursday, took the tube home, and then M received a request for a “personal day” and that he'd be back Sunday, then didn't show up on Friday.' At John's frown, Mycroft added, 'He hasn't taken a day off. Ever.' 

'So, you think someone confronted him here, forced him to send that request, and then leave.' 

'How else could it be done?' 

'Did they also guide him through security at the airport without him notifying a single person?' 

'What-' Mycroft began. 

'His passport,' Sherlock said impatiently. 'I know you're a bit overly fond of him, but please try to keep up. You didn't notice the passport missing?' 

'I- no.' 

'Who is he currently dating?' 

'Dating?' Mycroft asked incredulously. 'Q hasn't had a “date” since he was sixteen.' 

'Then why is there double the necessary take-out containers in the bin, blond hairs in the shower, and the distinct smell of cologne on the bed?' 

'Well-' 

John had never seen Mycroft so flustered before. It was rather fascinating. 

'It's understandable to be overprotective of younger siblings,' Sherlock said. 'But I do wish you wouldn't waste other younger sibling's time with it.' 

'I am not-' 

'What on earth is going on?' 

All three of them turned towards the open door. The agent was looking a bit confused, but not as much as the young man who had just come up the stairs. The older man – far too old, in John's opinion – behind him looked resigned if anything. 

'Quintilian,' Mycroft said. 'There you are.' 

'It's Q, brother Mike,' the young man said pointedly. He was definitely a Holmes, John thought, and he took from the same gene-mixture as Sherlock. They had the same slight build, curling black hair and air of impatience. His thick glasses and conservative clothing gave the impression of more years than a measly twenty-four. 

The man behind him, however, had to be at least thirty-five if not older. He was, in a word, imposing. He wore a perfectly tailored suit, but his face and build still didn't fit inside it. A caged animal, or a barely controlled explosion waiting to happen. He wasn't handsome in the traditional sense, but there was definitely something that could draw a person in. He was no doubt the source of the blond hair, and with the intense blue eyes, John could almost see the appeal. 

'Double O Seven,' Mycroft said with the air of a principle disappointed in finding which of his students were in trouble. 

'Mr. Holmes,' the double O nodded. Q ignored the awkwardness and walked towards his computer room. 

'You better not have touched anything,' he mumbled, very much the younger brother in that moment. The double O agent leaned against the door frame, impervious to the strange atmosphere. 

'You are aware this “relationship” is highly irregular,' Mycroft commented to him as one would the taste of one's neighbour's treacle tart at a village festival. 

'But not against company policy,' the agent replied. 'Besides, he wouldn't take no for an answer.' 

'The infamous James Bond couldn't stand up to my baby brother?' Mycroft asked as Q came back into the room. 

'That's not how relationships work, Mike,' Q said. 'But you would know very little about that.' He looked at John. 'Who are you?' 

'I'm Dr. John Watson, I work with Sherlock.' 

'Work with Sherlock?' 

'I'm his friend.' 

'Friend?' 

'Yes, friend,' Sherlock cut in. 'Some of us with lives outside the internet do have them “in real life” as you say.' 

'Well, I'm impressed, Shelly.' 

Sherlock was about to retort when Bond cleared his throat. It spoke much about his physical power that all three Holmes immediately stopped to look at him. John was grateful. 

'I take it you all came here because you were worried about Q? It's my fault. I decided to take Q away for the weekend. I should have given him more time to notify you all, but he was under the impression you wouldn't notice his absence.' In one fell swoop he had reduced all three Holmes into bashful teenagers. All of them avoided each other's gaze. 'My apologies.' 

'Fine, then that's all settled. I have to get back to work.' 

Bond moved aside for Mycroft to pass. The eldest Holmes ordered the agent stationed outside to follow him. 

'Is he just going to leave us here?' John asked. 'He drove us here.' 

'I'll call you a cab,' Q offered, taking out his phone. 'Why don't you wait outside for it?' 

'Why don't you make some tea, Q?' Bond suggested. 

'I've run out,' Q said. 

'It's fine, we were just leaving,' Sherlock said. 'Come along, John.' He stalked out of the flat and John could do little but follow him. As they exited the building, John had to ask. 

'What happened between you?' 

'Typical family drama, nothing interesting,' Sherlock replied while he tried to hail a cab. 

'I doubt your family has typical family drama.' 

'You'd be surprised.' 

'What do you mean?' 

'I stole his boyfriend.' Just then a cab pulled up and Sherlock got in. John blinked a few times. 

'You... stole?' he got in the cab. 'You stole his boyfriend?' 

'I didn't mean to, I didn't even realise I was doing it. They were teenagers, I was showing off. He's never forgiven me.' 

'So, he doesn't speak to you, and you don't even mention you have a younger brother?' 

'He...' Sherlock sighed. 'He doesn't like to be around me.' 

'Why not?' 

'He's the normal one.' 

'That's normal? Well, I guess it would be for a Holmes,' John mumbled.


End file.
